A siren blares. Ten groggy heads lift from floors, and desks, and the medbay sample scanner. Behind the helmet of her white flight suit, one frowns, looking around the dimly lit office and letting muscle memory guide her feet.
Where are they?
What are they doing?
This is the Callipygian; that the crew remembers, as they gather around the biggest table in the cafeteria, opposite the transparent aluminium window that separates them from the void.
As she sits, eying the others warily and noting the colours of their suits, she sees something written in crude black marker on her sleeve.
As they settle in their seats, she reads it aloud.
“There is an impostor among us.”
Blue slams gloved hands on the desk. Their voice is just on the nasal side of deep. “I’m telling you it’s Yellow.”
“Hey, man, like, come on,” Yellow says, leaning back in their chair, sounding unconcerned but mildly offended.
“Do you remember something we don’t, Blue?” says Green, their voice mellow, low, but with a hint of menace.
“No but he’s got weird vibes,” Blue says, leaning away, straight-backed.
“Look we don’t have anything to go on, let’s not just turn on each other. How do we know White didn’t write that on themselves?” says Pink.
“You’re right, we don’t have anything to go on,” White says, a little coldly, and looks at the others; Orange, Forest; uncomfortable in their seats. “Do any of us even remember why we’re here? Any names?”
Everyone is silent.
“I don’t even remember my name,” says Teal, with a note of panic. Purple reaches out and pats them on the arm, and they flinch away.
Only Black says nothing. White can’t shake the feeling they’re watching her from behind the opaque visor of their helmet. But they also have a tablet in their hands, tapping nonchalantly.
“Black seems oddly calm,” White opines.
Black’s helmet tilts up a little.
“We have more pressing needs,” he says - and White is very, very sure of thinking of Him that way - and sets his tablet down. “The oxy cycler is jammed. The ramscoop is retracted and we’re coasting on inertia. Navigation is hung on a reboot. Why are you all bickering?”
They stare, dumbfounded. Green reaches for their tablet and Black nods approvingly.
“Check your damn PDAs and get to work. Move in pairs.”
“But you’re just giving the impostor a chance to… to…” Pink gropes for words. “Do whatever they do.”
“To one person,” says Black, and he sounds weary. “And they will be remembered.”
“You think?” Yellow says.
“I hope.”
White looks down at her tablet; a to-do list of electrical repairs and a scheduled medical scan.
Reluctantly, the others pair off - although Blue quickly seems to wander off alone to avoid White. Black waits by the door.
“What’s on your plate, White?”
“Oh, um, wiring. Calibration.”
He’s still for a moment, and then nods.
“You’re with me,” he says, already turning, and he doesn’t wait for her to follow.
She does, nervously, since being left alone here seems like a bad idea and she remembers that if those wires are loose it could set oxygen tanks on fire and…
She catches up to him in the corridor. They pass Pink and Orange arguing about fission rates in the glow of the reactor pile. Their booted feet thump on the deckplates under the flickering lights; his heavier, but in sync as she doesn’t… relax, exactly. She has a feeling about Black.
“Were- are you the captain?” she asks.
“No,” he says.
“But you took charge so-”
“Someone had to. Teal, maybe. But I got there first.”
“Sounds captain-y,” she says.
“I can’t be the captain,” he replies, “I don’t care about these people.”
These people.
“Are you- is it- is it you?” she chokes, pressing herself against the bulkhead at the corner before the electrical hub. He stops, turns, visor looking her up and down in exaggerated fashion. She feels like he can see through her suit, and it’s not uncomfortable. Why is he so… exciting?
His tablet beeps; he turns it off, and then reaches up to unlatch his helmet. He lifts it off to reveal a close-cropped beard on a strong chin, dark eyes, a tight braid peeking around his neck.
“I trust you,” he says.
He turns on his heel and strides into the electrical hub room. She takes a moment to will her breath to slow, and follows him.
Can she trust him?
He’s disinterestedly looking around when she comes in, checking this and that with the air of someone keeping busy. She follows and tries to make sense of the tangled cables, the loose wires, exposed control panels. She checks her tablet again, and decides that the memory-the muscle memory-will come back and she’ll know what to do. He’s leaning against a capacitor behind her, the door hidden on the far side of that, as she bends over to look into the guts of the ship. She hears a sound, glances over her shoulder. His eyes lift and meet hers. “Were you-”
“Was I?”
He was, she decides. She also decides to take off her helmet, too. A little sign of trust. They’re alone here, after all. If he was going to do something wouldn’t he have done so by now?
A hint of a smile plays across his features, and he leans forward. Reaches out with one hand. She feels like her heart has stopped.
He gently cups her cheek, and his hand is surprisingly soft. He strokes his thumb over the skin just near her eye.
“A tattoo,” he says.
“What?”
“You have a little black heart,” he says, pulling his hand back and tapping the same spot on his own face.
“Oh. I do remember that. I think.”
He’s just staring into her eyes now, still with that suggestive suggestion of a smile.
She looks away hurriedly and back to the swinging cables.
So she just needs to… connect this one… to…
She frowns, crouching at the access hatch. She can’t remember what to do.
What is he doing? He’s quiet. Does he suspect? Is she the impostor?
She can’t be. Her heart is pounding in her chest.
Why won’t he just do something!
But why would she expect him to, anyway? She does. He’s thinking too hard, she can nearly hear it.
“Get me one of the spare cables, will you?” she says, annoyed, as she fumbles with the mess in front of her.
He does, while she tries to recall. She glances over at him and something about the angle is so familiar.
She’s knelt on the floor while he busies himself with-
She flushes. That... can’t be right. Maybe it is. No.
He turns around, idly winding one of the cables around his hand. She feels a sudden bloom of heat, she feels heavy, she realizes her mouth is watering.
He stands over her with the cable in hand, looking down, and she can tell he remembers something too.
“Do you trust me?” He asks.
“...I guess I do,” she says.
“We need to remember. And perhaps-”
“If we do something that feels familiar it will jog our memories?”
He smiles, proudly, and she blushes, pleased. Okay, maybe this is something they’ve done before.
“So what feels familiar?” He asks. It’s bait, but she takes it.
“I think we should take off our suits,” she says, sitting on the floor now. The work forgotten.
“You first.”
“Why don’t you do it your fucking self?” she snaps, smirking.
Very deliberately he unwinds the cable from his hand, offers it to her, and shrugs halfway out of his suit, and takes the cable back. He cocks his head and wraps the cable again, then reaches out to casually snap the toggles of her suit, drag her to her feet to unzip it and push it onto the floor, leaving her stripped to regulation underwear. She greedily watches him watching her as they slip off the rest of their clothes, like they’re ready to draw guns at high noon. He likes what he sees, she can tell - and she likes that, too.
“I can tell you’re not the captain now,” she says, smirking.
“Because you won’t follow orders?”
“Because that hair isn’t regulation.”
“Hm. Neither are those thigh-highs.” She recognizes the look that accompanies his thoughtful sound, and she feels like her heart is fluttering just barely over the throbbing heat in her cunt.
“That cable isn’t for the ship,” she says, meeker.
“It isn’t.” He leans over to spread their suits on the floor a bit more and she admires the muscles in his shoulders and back flex under his skin while he does.
“Kneel.”
“Make me.”
He grabs her by the hair, close to the nape of her neck, and kisses her fiercely for a moment before forcing her down.
She parts her lips and tries to lean forward to taste his cock, so close now, but he leans away, teasing.
“Something’s missing,” he says, leading.
She wants, god damn it. He won’t stay no if she- oh.
“Tie my hands…”
He raises a brow, perfectly arched, and she feels like a TwenCen pornstar when he does.
"Are you sure about this?" he says, stretching the spare cable between their hands,
"Yes, oh yes," she replies, nearly gasps, and holds her wrists together behind her back.
She’s struck by how gently he does it, and shivers with delight even before he pulls the knot taut. He kisses her on the shoulder, the jaw, and stays knelt behind her where she can feel him hard against her asscheek.
She turns her head to kiss him again as he reaches around and cups her breasts, and then his hand is on her hip and the other in her hair so he can hold her steady.
“Do whatever you fucking want to me,” she says huskily.
So he does.
Afterward, he pulls out and away, leaving her spattered and sweaty and shaking, and their harsh breaths are in unison.
He unties her wrists, gently. He kisses them and checks for welts. She snuggles against his chest as they prop themselves against the machinery, sat on their mercifully waterproof suits. “You did so well, in such strange circumstances,” he says, softly. “How lovely, how able,” he croons. “My perfect slut.”
She half-giggles and it makes her legs tremble all over again.
They lie together in the gloom, talking softly, remembering. Trading a water canteen from one of their suits. He hugs her tighter now and then. She shyly, slyly licks his neck to tickle him and make him kiss her again.
“Mmm, I think I just need to stretch out for a bit, maybe lie in Medical,” she says.
“Good idea,” he nods, and helps her back into her suit.
“Do you remember anything else?” she asks, grinning. She draws a compact laser pistol from a hidden panel of her backpack.
He draws a knife from his boot.
“I can get enough for us both while you rest, and it gives us an alibi.”
"Come get yer mandrake root, only harvested once a year! Get it before it runs out!"
"Hexes! Curses! Wellness tonics and lucky charms!"
You kept your eyes forward, despite the cacophony of the merchants surrounding you. Lucio had warned you not to pay mind to anyone selling anything you didn't understand. New Orleans’ underworld market was no place for witches-in-training to dawdle. The two of you were here for one purpose and one purpose only; to restock his supply of wolfsbane (and maybe get a nick cocktail later, who knows?). So, you stuck to the plan, not wanting to get on the bad side of your formidable friend.
You’d been Lucio’s apprentice for well over a year, but seldom did the two of you get to spend time alone. In fact, there almost always seemed to be an excuse for him to keep his distance, much to your chagrin. It was hardly a secret among your friends that you had a thing for your eccentric master.
“Perfume! Fanciful perfumes from here and there, guaranteed to attract the object of your desire or your money back!” a merchant called out to you, “Hey you, mon cherie, wouldn’t you like to try some perfume? Free of charge.”
Well… you did understand perfume.
The heady smell of unknown spices and flowers hit you like a wall as you approached the merchant’s tent. The woman behind the counter wore a vast array of colorful silks and gold jewelry. Her eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, lazily focusing on you as she held a bottle up in her frail hands.
You gently took the bottle from her hands, turning it over in search of a label. Finding none, you asked “What’s in it?”
“Nothing dangerous, my dear,” came her response. “It’s a lovely flower that only blooms once every ten years, and it’s very fragrant. This bottle is diluted with essence of lilies, but I assure you it’s still effective.”
Your brow furrowed, taking a tentative sniff. “Effective at what?”
“Just what I said, deary,” she laughed, “it will make you more attractive.”
It couldn’t hurt, you supposed. After getting her permission, you gently misted your neck and wrists with the sweet-smelling perfume.
“Now, it will dissipate in a few hours, be sure he gets a good whiff before then.” The old woman winked at you as she took the bottle back.
You murmured your thanks and left the stall, holding your wrists close to your body, a little concerned what might happen if someone else smelled your new perfume.
Out of your sight, the old woman’s face shifted. Mischievous yellow eyes stared at your retreating form with slitted pupils. Pointed ears sprouted out from her unruly hair, which had taken on an unearthly, luminous hue. “Have fun, deary,” she snickered.
You weren’t sure how long you wandered the market, but you eventually heard the familiar voice of your companion. He was bent over a counter, yelling obscenities at a cowering vendor. Lucio seemed less than pleased with the goods he’d beenn sold, though you couldn’t quite make out the rapid French spewing from his foaming mouth. Knowing full well you were essentially poking an angry bear by doing so, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“And what the fuck do you want!?” He turned on you like a viscous hound, snarling with his sharpened teeth bared.
You held your ground, keeping your eyes on him.
The instant he registered your face, he recoiled. “Ah, sorry about that, ‘chere. I was just finishing up some business with that gentleman over--” he looked behind him, only to find the vendor had vanished entirely. “... there.” Lucio sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Hope you can forgive me for shoutin’ at ya like that.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Lucio. Did you find your wolfsbane?”
“Yes, but it’s hardly fresh.” He sent another glare towards the abandoned stall. He sighed once again, leaning into the hand you still had resting on his shoulder. He inhaled.
In an instant, his eyes shot open, bloodshot and wide as saucers. “Putain!”
He looked at you with a wild, hungry look on his face that sent chills down your spine. He pushed your hand away as if it had suddenly caught fire. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he met your eyes with a suspicious glare. “Where did you find that perfume?”
Oh, shit. You desperately hadn’t wanted to make him angry. “It was just a sample… She said it was made with flowers…”
“What kind of flowers?” His words came out in measured breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself calm.
“J-just lilies,” you stammered, sure you were in for it now, “and a tiny bit of this flower that blooms every… few years? Is it something dangerous?” Your breath came in uneven, shuddering breaths. You’d seen him angry plenty of times before but, so far, you’d never had to be on the receiving end of his rage. “Are you going to be ok?”
His groaned, once again raking a hand through his hair as he stepped away from you. “You haven’t hurt me, darlin’. But,” he took another step back, “it is dangerous. You’ll need to head back without me, I’ll be right behind ya in a few hours.”
His heart broke at your disappointed face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to share a nice day together, followed by dinner and maybe then… well, he tried not to think about what he’d envisioned next, especially in his current condition. You were supposed to fall a little bit in love with him today, so he could stop this infernal one-sided love affair. He’d even taken precautions to curb his more… animal instincts.
The truth was, he was hardly able to control himself around you under normal circumstances. He’d used up the last of his wolfsbane crafting a tonic that would help him temper his more carnal desires, so he could make it through a conversation with you without needing to take a cold shower.
And you had managed to undermine all his hard work with some silly perfume.
Lis du Désir was used in only the strongest love potions, it had the ability to make one’s target entirely insatiable for days on end. Luckily for Lucio, this appeared to be a very weak solution, and he was only slightly more inclined to bend you over the nearest table and take you, in every sense of the word, than usual.
You turned to leave, and it felt like a spear being pushed through his chest. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed your wrist and pulled. You fell into him, his vice-like grip on your waist giving you little opportunity to push away.
"Wait," he growled in your ear. "Ma beauté, je ne supporte pas de te voir partir comme ça. S'il vous plaît, laissez Monsieur Lucio vous montrer à quel point il vous adore."
You shuddered as you felt his low barritone rumble in his chest. "Are you alright, Lucio?"
At the mention of his name, the poor man nearly crumbled in your hands. You had no right to have such an effect on him. "Une si jolie voix, je dois l'entendre crier mon nom."
You had never seen him look so weak. Concerned, you lifted a hand to brush his hair from his face. "You don't seem to be feeling well. Let's head home, ok?"
He shivered, pulling your hand to his face and pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist. "Too... far. I have an apartment… nearby." His sharp teeth grazed your skin. His eyes screwed shut, he looked as though he were fighting something strong within him. "Help me, mon amour."
Fearing the worst, you escorted him as quickly as you could to the brick building he assured you he owned a small room in. Luckily for you, they had elevators in New Orleans’ underworld black market. You collapsed as soon as the elevator doors slid closed, dropping your companion unceremoniously to the floor. At the loss of your touch, he released a pleading groan that threatened to rip your heart out.
“Please… stay with me,” he begged.
So, you stayed. You laid down by his side and stroked his hair while he panted and shook. His hands were constantly twitching, nearly reaching for you, then stopping short.
It seemed odd, but it occurred to you that he seemed to calm down somewhat when he touched you. "You can touch me if you need to. Does the warmth help your chills?"
"Don't offer things like that." He barked, but wrapped his arms around you nonetheless.
His grip was looser, this time, allowing his hands to trace up and down your body. You stiffened at this unprecedented level of attention, biting back a gasp as he cupped your rear in both hands and pulled you into him.
"Ah!" You couldn't help it, not when you felt clear evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh. He ground against you and uttered what you could only describe as a desperate whine. You were shocked. So, you surmised, the perfume was a powerful aphrodisiac, which made the merchant's promises much less innocent than you'd previously thought.
Unconsciously, you dove forward to kiss him. He met you with equal fervor, all tongues and teeth and desperation pouring out from both of you. You were just about to slide your fingers into his waistband when…
Ding! The elevator reached its destination. You grumbled, picking you and your love-drunk companion up to trudge towards his apartment.
“Number 82, yes?” You asked.
“Yes, that’s the one,” he answered. He was unable to keep his hands off of you at this point, making each step down the hallway all the more difficult to take. Each foot of progress was interrupted by a tongue lavishing your neck, or wayward hand making its way to your bosom.
Finally, you reached the door. Number 82.
You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness mixed in with all the guilt as Lucio tried to rut into your thigh, desperate for release. You didn't want to make love to him if you weren't what he wanted without the influence of some mystical plant. You pushed against his chest in an attempt to leave him at the door, "I know what you need, Luc. I'll find one of the women you usually bring home. Someone you like.”
His eyes opened, pleading and nearly tearful. "No!" He begged, voice breaking into an animalistic growl that shook you to your core. "I only want you, amour. I've…" he paused, gasping as he finally got some of the friction he needed pressing against your thigh. "I've always wanted you. Je t'aime, my little… ah! Mon petite ange."
Entirely high off of his confession, you snuck your hand into his trousers and started working the aching flesh with your nimble fingers. "I love you too, my darling. Now, let me take care of you." You pushed the silky fabric of his trousers down to give yourself better access, stroking him ever so slowly and tightening your grip to soothe his throbbing need. You pulled him in for a slow, lingering kiss. “Just tell me what you need, baby.”
“M-more…” was all he could manage.
And you obliged, pushing him onto his back and trailing kisses down his chest. With each kiss, you undid one button of his shirt. He writhed underneath you, clearly holding himself back from flipping you over and taking what he needed, himself. You reminded yourself of the ramifications for not satisfying him fully and picked up speed.
At long last, you reached his cock and licked it from base to tip with a broad swipe of your tongue. He swore and twitched while you took him in your mouth, pumping his base with your hand and teasing the head of his cock with your tongue. Once he was wet enough with your spit, you swallowed him whole.
“Putain!” He nearly leapt from the bed. His hands grasped for your hair as he pushed himself further into your mouth, pumping his hips in an uneven, shuttering rhythm. Your hands latched onto his thighs to help you keep your balance while he thrust into you mercilessly. “Ta petite bouche de salope se sent si bien, mon chaton. Je pourrais te baiser pendant des siècles, tu ne reverras plus jamais la lumière du jour.”
You let him fuck himself with your mouth until he came, his shouts of delight more than enough to persuade you to release one of his thighs in favor of teasing your aching clit with your fingers. His whole body shook as he slammed his cock into the back of your throat. He released a groan and a string of babbling French that made your stomach twist in the most pleasant way. Thick cum poured into your mouth, and your lover’s desperate pace finally slowed. You swallowed, and lifted yourself to lay on his chest.
He stroked your hair, still panting and covered in sweat. “More…” he moaned, kissing you hungrily. He growled, biting your lip and pulling you closer to him. “More… more…
S'il te plaît, ma déesse, j'ai besoin de plus.” His greedy mouth trailed over your neck, biting down hard.
And how could you say no? You positioned yourself over his member, still hard despite it all. “I’m ready for you, Luc.” And you were, you felt yourself dripping with anticipation, only growing wetter with each shuddering moan he uttered. With only that for a warning, you lowered yourself down onto him, taking him in.
He released your neck, eyes screwing shut and singing your praises in broken cries and lusty growls. You rocked your hips, keeping him deep inside you but giving him the friction he so desperately needed. “Oh, fuck, Lucio!” you picked up your pace, “Baby, you’re so good. You’re… so damn good. Are you going to cum for me, Luc?”
He gripped your hips and slammed himself even further into you in response. You cried out, feeling that telltale heat building up inside of you.
“Ah, Luc! I’m gonna--”
Suddenly, he stopped. You felt yourself being filled just as you neared your climax. His gentle grinding into you not quite enough to send you over the edge. “Ah, ah, ah, mon cherie.” he chuckled, seeming a little more like himself than the babbling mess from only minutes ago. “You may be on top of me now, but don’t forget who’s in charge.”
With a snap of his fingers, you were on your back with Lucio grinding mercilessly into you. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Thank you, I’m feeling quite a bit better, darlin’. Now, as I was saying before…” You yelped as you were pulled into him, his hands pinning your wrists frimley to the mattress.
